


The Smell of Someone You Love

by Mangokiwitropicalswirl



Series: Thanksgiving Fluff [2]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Season/Series 04, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 12:44:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8668120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mangokiwitropicalswirl/pseuds/Mangokiwitropicalswirl





	

[NOTE:This picks up immediately after “Aprons and Undershirts. If you like your fluff USTy and canonical, stop there]

  
When Mulder returns from dropping the garbage sacks in the dumpster out back, Scully is still happily humming along to the music as she works her way through the stack of dishes next to the sink. Mulder pauses as he slips off his shoes, watching her sway ever-so-slightly as she scrubs, then rinses, then precariously stacks each platter and pot in the drain.

  
The candles on the dinner table are sputtering down into the wax. The apartment is fragrant with a mixture of smells -- onion, sage, vanilla candles and lemon dish soap. Scully has pulled her hair back away from her face, and Mulder’s gaze traces along the back of her long, pale neck where a few tendrils of her hair are curling at her ears. She tilts her head first to one side then the other, stretching as she raises and lowers her shoulders. The heat of the dishwater is drawing a flush to her cheeks and the recessed light over the sink halos her as if she’s some kind of Vermeer come to life.

  
Mulder has seen her look more polished and pretty in her recently updated suits and careful work-day makeup, but he has never seen her look as absolutely, extraordinarily beautiful as she does at this moment. It’s all he can do not to cross the space between them and place some desperate kisses at that tender place where her weary neck meets her shoulders. He freezes in place at the sight of her shapely hips swaying in time to the music. He feels like if he crosses the kitchen and touches her, however innocently, he’ll be breaking some kind of enchantment.

  
But he wants to. He wants her. And for the first time, he is nearly certain that she wants him.

  
It wasn’t the fact that she had invited him over for dinner -- that was still within the realm of normal for their friendship. And it wasn’t the way that they had casually invaded each other’s space as they cooked together. No, they regularly trespassed those boundaries. The clue had been the perfume.

  
She’d come back to the living room after her shower looking fresh and tidied, the way she often did after cleaning up at the end of a long day of autopsies. The half-dry hair and hastily reapplied makeup was something he was used to seeing at their on-the-case dinners. But as he had stepped close to her to set down a piece of pre-dinner pie, Mulder had bent his head close to hers and caught the faintest whiff of what he could only describe as a clear, green scent emanating from behind her ear, tangled in her auburn hair. If he’d known flowers, he’d have said it smelled like freesia, but since he didn’t, it translated simply as a sensation of fresh cut grass, clear running water and the palest budding green.

  
Scully smelled like spring, like newness and starting over and the clarity of a world after the ice thaws. It was all too much. He tried not to over analyze, but being after all, himself, it was impossible not to read a thousand meanings into the gesture. He visualized her after her shower, wrapped in a towel, reaching for a small glass bottle and choosing to dab a few drops behind each ear. He visualized kissing the hollow of her neck, slowly, softly, until the thaw was complete. He could almost feel her breath on his cheek in return, almost hear her soft sigh as he took her in his arms.

  
He made it through dinner half-aroused and heavy with the weight of what his senses were suddenly telling him, that Scully wanted him too. That the wine-aided conversation on the couch about aprons and undershirts hadn’t been merely hypothetical. She had opened the door and heaven help him if he wasn’t going to walk right through it.

 

  
“That was quick,” Scully calls out over her shoulder when she hears him returning to the apartment.

  
“Nothing to it.” He slides up along side her at the sink and plunges his hands into the sudsy dishwater where she’s scrubbing a casserole dish.

  
“What’re you doing?” She looks up at him abruptly.

  
“Washing my hands,” Mulder grins, “this seemed quickest.” Underneath the blanket of suds, Mulder tenderly grasps Scully’s wrist, caressing her thumb with his own. Neither of them can see what their hands are doing, but he’s still taken aback when her palm meets his and she interlaces their fingers.

  
“Mul--,” Scully looks up at him with eyes full of questions and desire.

  
“It smells good in here, Scully,” Mulder says in an innocent tone of voice, “Did you make tea or something?”

  
“No, uh… no.” She looks confused. “You’re probably smelling the candles, or the pie.”

  
“No.” Mulder shakes his head. “It’s definitely not that.” He dips his head to nuzzle his nose into the hair at her temple and breathes out lowly, “I think it’s you.”

  
Under the water, his hands tighten their grip as Scully turns her head to meet Mulder’s gaze. Her eyes widen as he looks at her softly and moves to kiss her temple without breaking eye contact. He watches as her mouth opens slowly, as if she’s unable to speak. He moves to kiss her other cheek, but then angles his lips toward her earlobe and the soft spot just behind her ear. He breathes in the smell of her skin, her shampoo, her lingering perfume, and when he presses his moist lips against the spot, Scully lets out a breathy whimper. Startled at the contact, she jerks her dripping hands out of the sink and presses them against Mulder’s chest, leaving the wet imprint of her hands across his torso and pecs.

  
Mulder can’t tell if she’s pushing away or grabbing hold, so his arms quickly encircle her, turning her toward him until she’s pressed against the edge of the sink. He is about to bend and kiss her solidly when her expression changes. He can read panic and surprise in her eyes, and also something deeper which he hasn’t seen before. Her hand on his pec twitches slightly and her voice suddenly returns, “Mulder?” His name is a question, all the questions, and all the worries at the same time.

  
“Scully.” Her name is the answer, all the answers, and all the forces conspiring to make this moment absolutely inevitable. He opens his mouth to say more, to apologize or make a joke, when her wet hand grasps his neck and pulls his head down towards hers.

  
Then there’s nothing but lips meeting, first carefully, then forcefully, as the distance between them dissolves. Mulder pulls her closer mid-kiss, reaching down for minute to hook one of her thighs and lift her up to the lip of the counter. Scully balances precariously before wrapping her legs behind his back and resuming her assault on his mouth. Her tongue pushes past his lips and suddenly he is weak in the knees. His kisses intensify, returning her passion tenfold.

  
When he steps closer into the circle of her legs until his center is pressed into the juncture of her thighs, a low moan issues from them both. Blood rushes from his head to his waist and he’s almost dizzy when Scully moves slightly, the friction of her jeans stoking his now sizeable erection. In the intensity of his arousal, he almost loses his grip on her.

  
“Mulder,” Scully’s voice scolds, “I swear to God, if you drop me in this sink, I will never forgive you.”

  
“What’sa matter, Scully,” he teases back, “Not in the mood for a wet t-shirt contest?”

  
“I think you’ve already won that one.” She nods at his chest, the thin white material now soaked where her wet hands have grasped it in front and behind.

  
“Maybe I should take it off, then?” He raises an eyebrow.

  
Scully swallows audibly, and answers breathily, meeting his gaze, “maybe.”

  
He reaches to pull his undershirt out of his waistband, watching Scully’s pupils dilate with what he can only assume is a level of desire that matches his own. Still, he hesitates, knowing where things are rapidly heading. He pauses, searching her expression for either permission or a giant stop sign.

  
“Do we, um, do we need to talk about this?” He asks, hating the sound of his voice.

  
“No,” she shakes her head slowly, smiling, “No. I think we talk too much.”

  
“Well, okay then,” he smiles and grabs the hem of his shirt, surprised to find Scully’s hands hastily working with him to pull it up over his head until he’s standing half-dressed in her kitchen, Scully running her hands slowly over his bare torso. Her expression is serious and admiring, and he wonders if she has ever looked at his body this way before, or if she is only just now allowing herself to.

  
He has looked at her for years, at first only in the most general sense of positive physical appraisement, but more recently, with a mixture of desire and tenderness that he has rarely before -- if ever -- felt. It is a new sensation, to desire and also ache to protect. He maintains a sense of her as an infinitely precious other and also, somehow despite their lack of this kind of connection, an inseparable part of himself.

  
The feeling of Scully’s lips pressing small kisses across his upper chest snap him back into the moment and he gathers her up against him for another deep kiss. “I’m feeling a little underdressed here, Scully,” he winks as they pull away.

  
“I think we can remedy that,” she answers, slipping off the counter and pulling him by the hand toward the living room. When they make it to the couch, he is astonished by the speed with which Scully unties the soggy apron and tosses it on the floor.

  
He decides to revise his earlier statement about aprons -- it’s not seeing a woman in one that turns him on, it’s seeing her at the moment she finally takes it off. Scully stares at him as she reaches for the hem of her sweater, inviting him to help her as she had helped him. He doesn’t have to be told twice and together they lift the sweater over her head just before she pulls him down on top of her. Mulder feels like he must be suffocating her beneath him as she sinks into the couch from their combined weight.

  
She moves to bracket his legs with between hers so he can stretch out long on top of her, his bare chest making contact with her breasts which are now threatening to spill completely over the top of her shelf bra. Mulder reaches to run one hand from just above the back of her knee, up her thigh, over the curve of her ass, along the dangerous dip of her waist, up her slender torso until he is spanning the curve of her breast with the web of his hand. When he moves to flick his thumb over the nub of her erect nipple, Scully lets out a long groan, throws her head back and grabs his denim-covered ass cheeks with both hands. Mulder chuckles and plants an open-mouthed kiss on her exposed neck. “Somebody likes that move,” he murmurs with a grin.

  
“Oh that was a move, was it?” Scully laughs. “Maybe you’ll like this one.” She snakes one hand around to the front of his jeans and cups his erect length with a gentle squeeze. Message received, he thinks as he pushes the thin straps of her bra down her shoulders until she lays bare-chested beneath him. Scully looks up at him somewhat dazed, her hair a tangled halo against the cushions, her chest heaving. Mulder rises propped on his elbows and takes in the sight of her quivering breasts and flushed chest, his eyes dark with arousal.

  
“Should we, um, should we stop?” He pleads internally for this not to stop, to never stop, but he knows a wrong assumption, a wrong move at this moment could prove fatal to all his hopes.

  
“What kind of a tease do you take me for, Mulder?” Scully replies playfully. “Get those pants off. Now.”

  
His eyes widen so quickly, it must look like they’re going to jump right out of his head because Scully starts laughing uncontrollably. Which makes Mulder collapse with laughter too, nearly crushing her beneath him when his arms give out from shaking. He rolls them onto their sides so they’re face to face, still laughing. For long minutes they grip one another in this strange half-naked hug, laughing, as if years of unspoken tension are rolling off of them in this longed-for truce. When Scully’s laughs subside, Mulder presses his forehead to hers with a long sigh.

  
“Do you want to move to your room?” he asks in a whisper.

  
“No,” she whispers back. “It’s too far away.”

  
“My my, miss Scully,” he teases even as he begins sliding down the zipper of her pants. “Patience is a virtue, you know?”

  
“Who said I care anything about virtue?” She raises an eyebrow and proves her point by working her hands into the waistband of his jeans and underneath the cotton of his boxer briefs.

  
Together they work to remove what little remains of their clothes. Mulder barely has time to process his surprise at Scully’s enthusiasm for the task, for the whole encounter really. Even as well as he knows her, he somehow hadn’t expected her to be as, well, thirsty for him as he is for her. But she is kissing him like there is no tomorrow, and dragging her toes up and down the back of his leg as if urging him to get to the main event. She keeps pushing them faster and he wants to slow down. He moves to slide two fingers into her and finds her as dripping wet as if he had dropped her in the sink. She twinges when he begins to stroke his two fingers in and out, shaking her head

  
“You, Mulder,” she commands breathlessly. “I want you, come on.” She reaches to stroke his erection root to tip, reminding him of the main event.

  
“I want… oh god,” his eyes roll back at the feel of her hands caressing him, “I want this to be good for you.”

  
“It will.” Ahe’s impatient, almost pleading, “I just want you in me. Like, now. Please!”

  
He had had his suspicions that Scully would be bossy in bed, at least he had when he’d let himself think about it -- which was rarely. This whole scenario was surpassing his rather tame fantasies of them, though, and now she was practically begging for it, for him. He hadn’t thought he could grow any harder, but every time she moved or spoke, he stiffened further until he knows now he probably won’t last a dozen strokes inside her.

  
“Scully, touch yourself,” he urges. “I’m not gonna last long.”

  
She nods, mouth open, and brings her other hand to begin circling her clit as he slides his erection back and forth through her folds. He waits until she is panting rapidly before positioning himself to slide in. He watches as her eyes roll back and she gives him another slight nod and he enters her in one slow motion.

  
Both of them gasp and pause for a moment before Mulder begins to move. It doesn’t take long before both of them teeter on the edge, and he somehow holds off his own orgasm until he feels Scully buck wildly, her grip on his forearm intensifying as her eyes slam shut.

  
“Oh God, Mulder!” she pants.

  
“Yeah baby,” he mutters through clenched teeth,”let go for me!”

  
There’s a rush of blood and his own orgasm explodes in long pulses as hers ripples around him, milking him dry. His arms quiver and he collapses to her chest as her legs remain hooked around his back, his erection now withering inside her.

  
He nestles his nose back into the crook of her neck, the faintest remainder of her clean perfume lingering underneath the fine sheen of her sweat. He presses a kiss to her chin and then her cheek, raising his head to look at her deep blue eyes in their post-coital glow.

  
He finds her smiling as she presses her own kiss to his forehead.

  
“Hi.” She grins.

  
“Hi back,” he replies with a broad smile. “So was this in your plan when you invited me over for Thanksgiving dinner?”

  
“Not exactly,” Scully laughs. “But then you had to go waltzing around in your undershirt after I told you how much that turns me on.”

  
“Turns you on?!” Mulder exclaims, “You were the one who opened the door in your apron. How was I supposed to resist such a come on?”

  
“Ah yes, the apron,” Scully nods knowingly, “who knew such an innocent garment could have such naughty implications?”

  
“That wasn’t naughty,” Mulder protests, “that was nice. If you want, I can do naughty.”

  
“We’ll have to see about that,” Scully says slyly as she unhooks her heels, moving to reposition. “I think I may be getting a cramp.”

  
“Oh sorry!” Mulder gasps as he starts to move his hips.

  
“Wait.” Scully keeps him from pulling all the way out, trapping him with her legs. “I need to tell you something.” Her voice lowers and she tries but can’t quite meet his gaze. “Mulder, I …. “

  
He reaches to cup her face with one hand, curving gently around her face so his thumb is caressing her cheek. “I know Scully, me too.”

  
“I need to say it, Mulder.” She protests. “And I should have said it before so you know it’s not just the sex talking.”

  
“Oh so you’re saying it’s not that my skills in the sack finally made you fall in love with me?” He teases. “Cause I can do better.”

  
“Don’t go making promises you can’t keep,” Scully smiles. “But no, I’ve felt this way for awhile, probably longer than I’d like to admit.”

  
“Then we’re on the same page here,” Mulder assures her as he bends to kiss her slowly. “Now, how are we gonna avoid making a mess on your couch?”

  
“Can you reach the apron?” Scully asks.

  
“Oooh, that’s dirty,” says Mulder, “I’ll never be able to look at that apron the same way again.”

  
“Well, not if I have anything to do with it,” Scully says with a raised eyebrow.

  
Mulder lets out a loud laugh and reaches out a long arm to grab the apron off the floor. “Happy Thanksgiving, Scully.”

  
Scully nuzzles her nose into his hair, “Happy Thanksgiving, Mulder.”

  
The first, he thinks, the first of many.

 


End file.
